


The Pressure of Existence

by Arioch



Category: Prey (Video Game 2017)
Genre: Gen, Post-Game, Typhon power, anxiety ridden coffee cups, ending spoilers, fluffy comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 16:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11558814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arioch/pseuds/Arioch
Summary: Being a human is hard.





	The Pressure of Existence

So, trying out what this human thing was all about hadn’t been going as well as they had hoped it would go. A simulation, no matter how detailed, only could prepare them for so much. The base they were woken up in was much sparser than Talos I. The first few days were painfully boring until Alex okayed them to be able to leave the simulation room they originally woke up in. It was then that they clued into their location: Transtar’s moon mining facility.

They followed Danielle to a different testing room in stony silence. The destruction of the station and most of humanity had not endeared Alex or Morgan to her. The corridors were plainly depressing, only decorated with some old fashioned flat screens. They stopped in front of one that showed a view on Earth and the remains of Talos I. It just struck them that they were not on Earth. They just had assumed the rest of humanity would be taken shelter there, but why would they? The moon was clearly more suited. No typhon to feel the minds of billions or the surface shielding them from their senses in some way alone were invaluable.

“Pal?” Danielle cut in. She was waiting at the next junction, hovering in a way that seemed almost nervous.

They snapped their head around and hurried up to catch up. It was better not to make anyone doubt them.

-

Right now, that was in the past.  Instead, they were being miserable trying to be human. The human condition is not entirely foreign to them. Humans eat, humans rest and humans fear. Typhon did all that but the recognition of the similarities was what made it new and exciting, making news pulse along the nearby coral in high speed. So far, so good.

The humans around Alex helped in their own way with integrating into their new hybrid existence. It turned out humans were quite good at humanizing enemies, including aliens, if they put their mind to it.

“Extensive knowledge on how to dehumanize people.” Dr. Igwe claimed when they had asked him how they had figured this out.

They hadn’t liked the name at first. They punched the “What” button and a dollar sign on their custom keyboard with gusto.

Dr. Igwe studied the symbols intently. “I’m… not sure I understand.” He finally said.

“Let me see.” Mikhaila grabbed the output terminal. “This is so easy. ‘What is the gain?’” They shook the appendage on top of their body. “’What is the benefit?’ See, nodding. I really don’t know why you don’t get the messages at all.” With that, she dropped the tablet on the floor and floated away.

Dr. Igwe cleared his throat. “It will make people more inclined to forget you are a typhon and more willing to bond with you. Which, ultimately, will offer you protection from revenge or other violent impulses.”

They gave them a name. The project that ultimately produced them had received a name, Palinouros, from their creators and quickly acquired a nickname: Pal. They still weren’t clear on what exactly the difference between a name and a nickname was. The name “Pal” stuck and even the humans outside the typhon behaviour research lab started using it. They might as well live with it, since they didn’t have a real preference and it did seem to help with disconnecting them from the typhon.

-

Humans also, it turned out, got stressed. This, too, typhon experienced but not nearly on a level as… intense. They were at the top of the galactic food chain; after all, not much could actually hurt a colony, let alone an apex typhon. Humans and human bodies, on the other hand, were more susceptible to all kinds of predators. Every new behavior log, every new test, every careful and deliberate interaction with their local humans resulted pure stress for their hybridized existence. It didn’t matter whether it was needles that needed to be shoved somewhere, pressing colourful buttons or having to explain the sensation of eating physical food for the first time to Dr. Igwe (and promptly throwing up). Worse yet, they had little input and absolutely no control over their schedule.

They sweat involuntarily (because, of course, humans were not able to consciously regulate their body functions. The thin coral connection was baffled by this), they shook and they were frozen or couldn’t speak, if not all at once. They did not acclimate to it.

When their local humans noticed how uncomfortable they were, the humans tended to advise them to seek some sleep. Sleep, it found, while not a usual past time for typhon wasn’t that unpleasant. But it also did not grant peace, like the humans around it claimed. Mikhaila commented on the bags under their eyes during breakfast a week ago.

“You’re just not looking healthy,” she said as she munched on her croissant. She was leaving crumbs all over the table. They were unsure how she got hold of it, given that they are on a moon base, with rationing on top. They also refrained from mentioning that there is not a baseline for “health” for typhon/human chimeras yet. “Have you tried a bubble bath yet?”

They shook their head and Mikhaila set down the croissant with deliberation.

Bubble baths, it turned out, were also not relaxing to typhon and neither was contact with pets. The last one had been Chief Elazar’s suggestion. She apparently trusted them enough to introduce her greyhound to them but other than slobber they hadn’t gotten anything out of it. “I don’t think typhon are tactile enough to get enjoyment out of dogs.” Dr. Igwe speculated when they told him about it later at their weekly checkup. They tried to hold eye contact, something that was apparently of utmost importance for humans for some nebulous reason, and not to glance at the biopsy needle.

“I mean, it’s more like no touching whenever they wait to find new prey species.” Danielle added from the sidelines where she was repairing a broken operator. Recycling was a must for all surviving humans on base. Because of limited space, the scientists and engineers had to share with each other. It was a work in progress Alex told them when they asked about the squeaky darts caught in his hair. “If you are cruising through space alone and sensitive to isolation you don’t need this stuff.” Danielle gave the operator a strong tap that had it make dial up noises.

Alex, who had been pretending to read something in the corner, huffed harshly. “That is a fascinating observation but not really helpful right now, Engineer Sho.” Alex looked about one more sarcastic interjection away from either sighing in disappointment, taking of his glasses and rubbing his nose bridge or tackling the next offender to the ground. The impression somehow floated into their thoughts from the depths of their consciousness and they pushed it back there again while pointedly trying not to dwell on how they would know.

“They both have a point, however.” Elazar said from her favourite perch in the corner. While not a scientist, she had taken to shadow Pal almost 24/7. They had asked once why she liked to stand alone in a corner even when multiple chairs were free. She simply stared at them and said “people”. They hadn’t been confident enough that she wouldn’t strangle them to ask her what that was supposed to mean yet. “We are thinking too much about humans. What do typhon do when they try to relax?”

“Leisure… is not really a concept for the typhon. If there are resources they are to be collected, if not they search for collectible resources or wait until the… resource, as it were, comes to them. I don’t think we have observed any kind of social or play behaviour.” Igwe butted in. In their limited experience of coral memories and connections he is not very off mark.

Alex hummed for a moment. “Say, what do typhon do when they are scared or threatened?”

 “I don’t think they get scared.” Elazar’s voice was dripping with her distaste. “I mean, how-“

“Hide. Run away and hide, that is what scared typhon do.” Of course, how could they have forgotten? It was buried in their nature but there were layers and layers of cells grafted into them. It wasn’t hard to remember when they were prompted with a question yet often enough their limitations slipped their minds. It was, in short, frustrating. The part of them that obeyed Euclidian geometrics did not like the hiding, at least in space. Lying, pretending, suppressing emotions – these kinds of hiding that part enjoyed.

“You want to try anything like that?” Alex asked.

They nodded fervently. _This was a stupid idea_ came from the back of their brain but they were too excited to listen. It took a second to shove it back and then to consider what to mimic. Plenty of coffee mugs but they could be so easily mixed up with each other. Who knows in which hands they could end up and not every human on this base was happy to have an experimental typhon hybrid around. No, it needed to be something else, something that could not just belong to everyone. They glanced at the table and back at Alex.

Oh, of course. “Wear me?” They looked Alex straight in the eyes and then moved over a bit. Alex furrowed his eyebrows but didn’t stop them. They called upon their typhon part and transformed swiftly – into Alex’ glasses.

The world instantly became more distant. It’s not blurry but it felt older, like an old sepia film being watched in a theater. Having a buffer between them and the world was soothing, even if they could not see everything as clearly now.

Alex took off his glasses and carefully touched one of their sidepieces. The touch felt… nice. A careful tingle along the side of their mimic form. They knew Alex deep down and felt comfortable around him. And the feeling became deeper and warmer as he decided to put them on.

Alex left his actual glasses behind on his desk and just went on with his day from what they can perceive. Whether he talked to engineers maintaining the generators or checked in with the kitchen about their remaining food supply, nobody gave them a second glance. They were just another object so common people ignored them.

They hadn’t felt this good in months.

Alex seemed to forget that his glasses were not his original pair after a while. He adjusted them, accidentally smeared them up and fiddled with them just as much as with his real glasses. With the knowledge that Alex was there to watch over them the sounds of the other humans around him became white noise. Visual impressions blurred together as they drifted off into the silence of their mind. They lost track of time entirely, let go the counting of minutes. It felt like drifting among the stars, like potential slumbering until the right moment comes.

They came back down to Earth (or Moon, more accurately), eventually and literally. “Pal.” Alex had taken off his fake glasses and was now holding them delicately in his hands. The urge to giggle burst through them and they slipped out of the mimic form, landing on the floor and cackling like a hyena on laughing gas. Alex frowned his disappointed older brother frown at them.

“Is there something funny in whatever alternate reality with slower time you went to? Or are you just carrying over some immaturity from Morgan?” He was teasing them, slightly with an edge but oh so familiar. This Alex was not trying to live up to being a genius or redeem himself by saving humanity right now. He was trying to be a brother to them, to Pal, annoy them and have a laugh.

They were still imperfect in so many ways, but this, they could do. They put on Morgan’s most annoying smirk and goaded Alex: “Well, wouldn’t you like to know.”


End file.
